His Eye On the Sparrow
by darthsydious
Summary: Good things to those who wait. Joanna Lestrade hasn't self-harmed in a whole year. Greg reluctantly holds to his promise of allowing her to get a tattoo. What ensues is not at all what he expected. TRIGGER WARNING: Discussion of past self-harm, cutting.


"Wait a minute, what's that?"

"What?"

"That, on your wrist," John pointed to Greg's skin, the marks just barely hidden by the cuffs of his coat. He let John pull up his sleeve to inspect. "What's this?" he chuckled. "Birds?"

"Not a very masculine tattoo," Sherlock agreed. "You don't strike me as the type, Greg."

"It's Gre- oh," Lestrade blinked, unused to Sherlock referring to his real name. "Uh, no, I'm not, wasn't...actually, but I promised Joanna if she went a year without cutting, she could go ahead and get a tattoo, she'd been begging me for one for a long time. She wanted to get a bird for each scar on her arm, but there was no way I'd let her get that big a tattoo, so we split the difference. Butterfly project for both of us if you like." He smiled and shrugged. Sherlock shrugged, the answer good enough for him and turned back to Molly, both bending to peer over the corpse on the slab.

"Is she doing okay?" John asked aside to Greg.

"Yeah," Greg's smile was fond then, clearly proud. "I caught hell at the PTA meeting at her school. Parents all complaining their kids wanted tattoos when they saw Joanna's, and the headmaster was furious because you can see it when she wears the short sleeved uniforms," he shrugged. "Can't seem to care really," he grinned. "She'd been begging me for that bloody thing for almost four months before I finally told her we'd make it a goal, she'd have to earn it."

"Must've been hard for her," John said.

"It was," Greg answered. "Think she came close a few times, but she pulled through. She taught herself some new coping skills, took up a few new hobbies. She's got her mom's stubbornness, that's for sure."

"Some of her old man's strength is in there too, I think," John added and Greg shrugged, clearly chuffed.

"She amazes me every day. A whole year, she didn't hurt herself, I don't-" he sighed, unable to find words. "A whole year she took care of herself enough to not do that, and that's not to say in the future she won't fall back on that habit, but right now, she's okay, she's looking forward." Greg's eyes were shining. "She looks at the birds on her arms, I can see her when she thinks I'm not looking, they make her smile. I was against her getting the tattoo in the first place, right up until after she got it, and told me why she wanted it so badly in the first place." Greg looked at the birds on his wrist, thinking back on the past two weeks and how much had happened.

**Two Weeks Earlier…**

_He'd just rolled up his sleeve, the tattoo artist (Lydia was her name, which Greg wasn't sure if she was joking or not) wiping his arm with an antiseptic wipe, still not believing he was doing this, that he'd let Joanna talk him into doing it. But then again, he'd rather have the twelve birds on his arm than have twenty-four all up her arms. At any rate, 'Lydia' was scooting her chair closer, bringing the needle closer to his pale skin. _

"_Thanks for doing this," Joanna said. She sat on the other side of him, watching him grimace as the needle slowly mapped out the twelve birds mid-flight. He looked at the cobalt blue ink on her arms, twelve silhouettes of sparrows flying up her arm. His tattoo would be just like her's, only he'd opted for black ink instead. "I know it's not the manliest tattoo, probably not one you'd choose."_

"_If I could choose, neither of us would be here," he said flatly. The tattoo artist snorted, keeping her eyes on her work. _

"_I know," Joanna answered. "So…thanks. I know you didn't understand why I wanted one, but…you were right, I had to earn it, and I'm glad you made me wait a year; it's a reminder of what I accomplished, and its proof I can do it." He squeezed her knee with his free hand. _

"_I knew you could." He glanced at his arm, still held by the tattoo artist, and then looked at Joanna's freshly inked arm. "As for this, well, I'll get used to it. But one condition: I don't want to see any new pictures on you till you're of legal age, deal?"_

"_Deal."_

_Another thirty minutes and Lydia finished, wiping his arm carefully, smiling with a flourish at her work. _

"_Looks good," he said as he studied the ink and he meant it. _

"_Ink works on you," she said with a smile. "You ever want another one, ask for me," she peeled off the latex gloves, tossing them in the bin. Leading them to the register, she fished through her apron pockets, pulling out a business card. "That's my work phone, but my personal's on the back." She smiled brightly and Greg stared at the woman. All different pictures tattooed up her arms, she was literally Lydia the tattooed lady, and he wondered how many other tattoos she had. He handed her his credit card. When she turned to swipe it, Greg found himself staring at the water-color of a starry sky that seemed to melt across her dark skin. In rich orange-red ink between her shoulder blades was a small compass, its needle did not point north, but swung to the west. He found himself trying to read the tiny script encircling it. Joanna saw and gave him a small shove. He stumbled, bumping the counter. _

"_Uh, is that Van Gogh?" he blurted. Lydia turned her head, eyes crinkling as she smiled. _

"_Yeah, good eye."_

"_Well…uh…anyway it looks good," he said. Bollocks. He was chatting up a tattoo artist. In front of his daughter. Joanna, for her part stared wide-eyed at her father, a grin forming. _

"_Hey, dad, I'm just gonna run across the street to grab a chocolate, you want something?" _

"_Nah, oh- but-well-" Joanna was already gone before he could formulate an excuse as to why he should go with her. _

"_Your daughter is pretty," Lydia handed him back his credit card, folding her arms over her chest. _

"_Thanks," he murmured. _

"_She looks a lot like you, her eyes, mouth." _

"_She looks like her mum too,"_

"_Sorry, do you miss her?" Lydia asked and he looked up, startled. "You don't have a ring, I figured her mum died._

_"No, God no, she uh- well, she left me, so she's not…exactly here." _

"_I figured she wasn't in the picture anymore, otherwise I wouldn't have given you my personal number," Lydia went about cleaning up her station. _

"_Well, uh, thanks."_

"_You know you're probably the first dad who ever willingly came in here with his kid. I mean, that," she pointed to the fresh ink on his arms. "That wasn't your idea, but you put a smile on for her, that's…pretty amazing." _

"_She's a pretty amazing girl," Greg answered with a shrug. _

"_She's um…she's been through a lot," Lydia leaned against the wall, crossing a leg over the other. "I saw the marks on her arms. How long has she been cutting?" He still felt his stomach drop, talking about Joanna's scars. _

"_Since she was fourteen, been in and out of juvenile detention camps, now she's clean, hasn't self-harmed for a whole year. Hence the tattoo." _

"_Crumbs," Lydia muttered, shaking her head. Greg almost laughed, and she saw. "What? You expected me to swear didn't you?"_

"_Well…yeah," he admitted. She narrowed her eyes, pointing a finger at him, some mirth in her expression._

_"That's profiling."_

"_Sorry, it's not a good habit, but it sort of comes with the profession of being a cop."_

"_You're a cop?"_

"_Well, DI," he shrugged. _

"_Oo I see," she folded her arms across her middle. "Well, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, for your information, I don't swear, I don't use drugs and I only drink on very special occasions. I don't smoke either," her eyes flicked to his rolled up shirt-sleeve, the edge of a nicotine patch just barely visible. _

"_Noted," he saw her looking and grinned. She sobered, her smile gentling to something reverent. _

"_But seriously, your daughter's an exceptional person, you should be proud of her." He turned, seeing through the store-front Joanna at a newsstand, pretending to read the latest gossip rag, watching them through the window._

"_I am," he said. "Two years ago, I never thought I could say that of her," he smiled then, eyes shining. "It's getting easier." _

"_Don't be afraid to come back," Lydia said after a moment. "I promise I won't ink you again, unless you want me to." He nodded, tucking her card into his pocket. _

"'_There are stranger things in heaven and earth, Horatio'," he answered, a twinkle in his eye. _

"_Bring around your little sparrow too," Lydia nodded to Joanna, who had at last come to stand in the doorway. "And keep an eye on her." _

"_Other way around," Joanna piped up, flashing a smile between her father and Lydia. "Come on dad, we'll be late otherwise." _

"_Bye Detective Inspector," Lydia waved, cheeky smile gracing her round face. _

**Present day…**

Having studied the body for a good fifteen minutes, Sherlock at last announced he knew the cause of death, which, according to him, was sadly, not murder.

"Sorry Sherlock," Molly said, trying to sound sympathetic. "Maybe next time."

"Humph."

"Well, if that's all, I'll send up the paperwork to Anderson and shove off, time I was getting home."

"Have a good night," John called.

"Yeah thanks, give Mary my love."

Ta!"

Greg waved to the group before jogging up the stairs. He'd just gotten to the elevator when his phone buzzed.

_Are you going to call her or not? – SH_

Greg frowned.

_Who? – GregL_

_Lydia the tattooed lady. –SH_

_That is none of your business, Sherlock. –GregL_

_If it makes you feel any better, Mycroft ran a background check, she's clean, owns two cats, and volunteers at a homeless shelter year-round. –SH _

_Several on my homeless network speak highly of her, which is more than you'll get from my brother and his resources. –SH_

_Thank you Sherlock, now sod off. –GregL_

_Don't be a fool, Greg. She made you smile. –SH _

The stream of texts ended there. The elevator doors slid open, revealing the hospital lobby. Pocketing his phone, he hurried through the bitter cold to his car, trying not to think too much of what Sherlock said. Lydia did make him smile. In fact he wanted to meet with her again, but what of Joanna? Well, she didn't seem opposed to Lydia. In fact she had been mentioning her quite a bit lately. Shaking his head, Greg picked up his mobile, making a few calls regarding the case. He started up his car just as his phone rang again.

"Hey Jo-jo, what's up?"

"Just wondering which Chinese food place you wanted to grab dinner at."

"Golden Dragon," he replied. He dug through his pockets, searching for his gloves. Instead he found Lydia's business card, her mobile number scribbled on the back, three sparrows drawn above it following her initials.

"Dad? Hello? Still there?"

"Yes, sorry," he paused, considering. Sod it. "Hey…Jo-jo, how'd you feel about having company tonight at dinner?"

"Did you ask Lydia?!" judging by the tone of excitement in her voice, Greg decided she wasn't upset.

"Not yet, I was just going to see if she wanted to come."

"Oh my God, yes, yes, ask her dad!"

"Well- I mean,"

"Dad, listen, call her up. Tell her you're meeting me at the Golden Dragon. I'll have Esther call me like, halfway through dinner and beg off. Then you guys can talk."

"What?! Are you setting me up?"

"Please. You need a good set-up. Besides, you're gonna be awkward if I'm there all night."

"Right."

"I'll see you there at half-past seven."

"Right, see you then."

He hung up, then hit the dial-pad, tapping out the number on the back of Lydia's business card, heart thrumming in his chest, not sure if he was willing her to pick up or not.

"_Hello?" _

From his hiding place, Sherlock could see Greg in his car, phone to ear, smiling. His voice, though muffled by the windows, was animated, hinged on hope. Smirking to himself, Sherlock turned away, whistling to himself. It'd be a late summer wedding by the looks of it, and if Greg was any sort of 'boyfriend' to this Lydia, he'd have another tattoo by then.


End file.
